


Help Wanted

by RowdyRaven



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Affection, Care, Fluff, Gen, Horns, Light Angst, Massage, Scars, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowdyRaven/pseuds/RowdyRaven
Summary: Lucifer's been having a hard time recently (when hasn't he?), so you decide to help him out a bit.Taking care of the demon who doesn't take enough care of himself.Could be considered light Lucifer x Reader but affection also readable as purely platonic.
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136





	Help Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in SO LONG. It's a weird old time, and my inspiration and motivation have been pathetically low. Thankfully, this little Lucifer care prompt has been in my head for a little while, so while I had that spark going, I thought I'd write about it a bit.

Lucifer sighed. It had been a long couple of weeks; there had been numerous reports to write, countless meetings to attend, endless deadlines to keep. The stress and strain it had put on Lucifer's psyche had not gone unnoticed either; for the past week he strutted around in his demonic attire, an often used tactic to keep his head straight, but even this wasn't without its issues. From a distance, Lucifer was magnificent to view - he stood tall and perfectly poised at all times, his wings gave him a sense of grandeur and grace as they spread from his shoulders and back - but up close, the tiny blemishes became apparent. The black diamond on his forehead had lost its usual gleam. The feathers on his wings were fraying on the edges, leaving large triangular gaps between the barbs. His horns looked dull, under each notch there were signs of chips, of dander, of a general lack of care. Lucifer had not neglected to see these minute flaws - in fact, they weighed as heavily on his mind as the rest of his responsibilities, if not more so - but as badly as he wanted to fix them, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He wouldn't admit it, at least not with words, but Lucifer needed - Lucifer _wanted_ \- help.

A sharp rapping on his door stirred him from his depression. Lucifer immediately stood, briefly considering if he should get a shirt before answering, but he needn't have bothered. In an unusual display of audacity, you opened his door with aplomb. Lucifer did nothing to hide his surprise. His eyes - the whites more red than his irises - darted from the shaky confidence in your face to the objects you carried with you. Creams, lotions, oils, loofahs, brushes, all neatly wrapped in a plush, baby-blue towel. He knew what they were for, who they were for, yet the question still rolled lazily off his tongue without thought.  
"What do you think you're going to do with those?" It came off as crass, though his didn't intend it to. He cringed a little at his own tone, shoulders stiffening even more than they already were.  
"I... I thought you could use a spa day," you muttered, voice rising to a sure statement with each word. The conviction on your expression was evident, though Lucifer could see the heartache and pity that glistened in your eyes as threatening tears. Those same tears would prick Lucifer's own with your next plea, "let me do this Lucifer. _Please_." 

He wasn't going to deny such a heartfelt request. Not when he knew as well as you did that this was no longer just a triviality, but a necessity. Lucifer perched himself back on the end of his bed, motioning for you to make yourself comfortable. You closed the door behind you and placed your collection of lotions and potions on the sheets near him, wandering not towards him, but across the floor to his record player. You knew his favourites well by now, what they meant to him and why and when he listened to them. The ones that calmed him, that motivated him, that cheered him up. The ones he needed right now. You pulled a rather unsuspecting record from the collection and unsheathed it, humming one of the tunes you remembered under your breath as you set it up to play. Lucifer watched you, his cheeks flaring in bashfulness - had you really paid this much attention him all this while? As the soft piano notes began to play through the wide-brimmed horn, his question answered, he blushed harder. Thankfully, you didn't notice, or at least, didn't indicate that you had. You returned to him and crawled onto the bed behind him.  
"Now, where to start?"

Lucifer's shoulders instinctively tensed as your hands, warm and gentle, made contact with his skin. Your thumbs pressed the massage oil into the skin at the base of his neck, the scent of lavender filling the room like a bubble had popped. Almost as quickly as they had flexed at your touch, Lucifer's shoulders relaxed. His wings, stiff against his back like four planks of wood jutting out of his shoulder blades, folded forward and drooped as the muscles released their tightness, his head following suit as he tipped his head forward with a soft noise of enjoyment. As you made his way down his back, around where the wings began, the once stiff demon became more and more pliant. A sitting position wasn't exactly ideal for a back massage, but you made do with what Lucifer was comfortable with. Perhaps you could finish it later. You ended the downward strokes of your hands where the knotted, ragged scars of his lost wings lay, afraid to touch them so soon, instead cycling back up to this neck with deep, circular movements of your thumbs, knuckles of your other fingers leading the way. You could feel the stress in his back, like he had been carrying the world on his shoulders, as you tackled the tangles that seemed to braid the muscles of his back from neck to tailbone. Once you reached his neck again, you squeezed the skin of his traps gently, and without command he tilted his head, opening himself up to you to make small circles against his shoulder and neck. You could feel the blush rising in your cheeks at how he responded so readily to your touch, and as you moved your gaze from your working hands to his now exposed face, you could see the flush on his too; thankfully, his eyes were closed, and even better, the tension between his brows had faded. The wisps of a contented smile played at the corners of his mouth, and that was all the wordless thanks you needed to continue.

Staying on his back, you used the towel to wipe the excess oil from your hands before moving onto his wings. All four now hung over his shoulders and sides in a style akin to how he often wore his favourite coat, the long flight feathers reaching down almost to the floor on the larger set. While you thought that finding a suitable oil for Lucifer's feathers was nigh on impossible, the lady at the counter in the Devildom Body Shop had enthusiastically recommended one they had in stock. While the scent was quite effeminate, smelling like fresh pumpkin pie, it wasn't necessarily all that strong. As you blended the delicate, thin oil into your hands, you hoped the lingering lavender would somewhat cancel it out.

"I'm going to move onto your wings now, is that alright?" You didn't want to startle him. Lucifer was quite sensitive about the wings he had left - at times almost ashamed of them - but looking at them now there was very little to be proud of. You knew if anything was going to restore that garish bravado of his, it would be this treatment. Lucifer groaned something along the lines of an affirmative, spreading his wings up and outwards, brandishing the feathers as widely as he could. You started on the upper pair, having to stand on the bed now to reach the outermost flight feathers at full splay. You worked the barbs of each frayed feather back into position with the oil, closing any notches or gaps that had presented themselves and gently rubbing the full feather in a downward stroke to finish. That part, though long, was the easiest part. Where the bones and flesh held the wing together, there were a number of very small, downy feathers. These could not be treated like the larger ones, and as you ran your hand gently through them, feeling around the skin for signs of irritation, lumps, bumps, and knots, you could also feel an array of sheathed pin feathers. Upon making contact with the pin feathers, the wing you were working on tensed and puffed out, exposing pale skin under the dark feathers, but also opening up the area for you to work on them.

Below you, hidden by the shade of his own mantle, Lucifer blushed harder as his instincts gave him away once more. He hoped that you hadn't noticed that instinctual, avian signal of trust, of affection, of a desire to be touched and preened. He hoped that you had thought it was on purpose. Regardless of whether you knew or not, whether it had been on purpose or not, Lucifer couldn't deny the feelings that bubbled up inside him as you gently rubbed the keratin sheath from those awful pin feathers, as you smoothed out the released feathers with care. As much as he was enjoying the attention you were paying him with your actions, Lucifer was simply enjoying being near you more.

As the oil on his feathers dried, you moved onto the third and final phase of Lucifer's care regime. You took out the towel, a hard-bristled brush, and a tin of polish, placing them nearby in preparation.   
"How are you feeling Lucifer?" you asked softly, your voice little more than a whisper. It was another question that didn't necessarily facilitate an answer, but Lucifer was happy to give you one.  
"Better, thank you," he murmured as he raised his head. He turned to flash you a small, genuine smile; the corners of his eyes crinkled as his cheeks puffed slightly out and up.  
"I've just got your horns left to do, then if you're comfortable with it, I could finish off your back massage?" Lucifer contemplated your offer, and a shadow of doubt briefly crossed his features. "You don't have to answer now, let's just see how it goes, okay?" You gave him your best, reassuring grin. He chuckled tenderly in response with a single, shallow nod. As you took your place once more at his back, you pulled the strap of the brush over your hand, the back of the brush fitting snuggly against your palm, and set to work. From the tip of his horns you worked down, scratching dirt and flakes from each rimmed section, taking extra care around the chipped edges to clear them but not cause any more damage. Some sections required more work than others, but you left each the same way; clean, shining, smooth. Once they were neatened up, you ran the towel over them once, the soft fibres melding with the shape of his horns like they were liquid. You then opened the tin of polish, noting how strongly it was dyed, before rubbing the towel against it to transfer some of the inky ointment across. As thoroughly as you cleaned them, you now did the same once more with the polish, covering every nook and cranny for a nice, even finish. All the while, Lucifer was focussing on containing himself. How badly he wanted to purr with delight as the various sensations travelled through his horns and into his scalp. As you wrapped a hand around one of the horns to steady yourself and target a particularly complex series of scratches and notches, he sucked in a breath to stop himself from doing anything more. There was something so primal about such innocent contact. It was something Lucifer had never felt before; he'd never let anyone close enough to see those notches, never mind become so intimate with them. He yearned for you to do it more, and thoughts and images of you doing so in different scenarios raced through his mind like a slideshow. He felt a familiar heat from his chest and neck, realising that once again, he had embarrassed himself.

As you finished with his horns, you settled down on your knees behind him, staring intently at his back. You watched his muscles quiver and his wings twitch as a shiver ran up his spine, as if he knew you were watching.  
"How do you feel?" This wasn't the same question as before. You weren't asking about how he felt, but more about what he was thinking.  
"I trust you," came his eventual reply. "Just... be gentle. Please." You wouldn't be anything but, you thought to yourself. You moved everything aside to allow him room to adjust his position, lying face down against the mattress with his head balanced on the back of his hands. His wings now covered most of the bed, hanging off the sides. Like this, you could see them in their full glory, how they weren't just simply black, but with hues of purples, blues, and greens dancing in the light. You shook yourself from your revelry to get back to the task at hand.  
"Would you be okay if I... straddled your back?" His bed was so large, you were unlikely to reach across his entire back without doing so. Lucifer didn't hesitate to answer.   
"Be my guest," he mumbled, tone mellow and relaxed. You clambered over him, hovering just above his buttocks.  
"Is this alright?" The response was a soft 'mmhmm'. You could see he had closed his eyes again, his face side on, cheek pressed against his hands like a pillow. He really did trust you. You slicked up your hands once more with the massage oil, starting again from his shoulder blades and pressing your palms into the muscles below. You slowly worked your way to his lower back, the scars becoming closer and closer with each stroke.

"I'm going to go over your scars Lucifer, alright?" You didn't expect a response. It wasn't so much a question as it was a warning. You could feel the sudden increase in tension in his lower back for a moment as he anticipated your next move. You put the heels of your palms against the skin close to his hips, pushing up and around in gentle circular motions. You widened the circles as he grew more and more comfortable with it, feeling the raised, taut flesh of the old wounds bump lightly against your hands. You went over them as softly as you could, feeling the direction of the healed skin and moving with it instead of against it as best you could. The muscles underneath were a mess; this was something that had accumulated over thousands of years. The sins he quite literally bore on his back. Working the area once more with soft, parting motions of your finger tips, you felt the salty sting of tears forming in your eyes. He had been through so much, felt so much, survived so much. How he could do it all and still keep his head held high and proud was a mystery to you. You wondered how many days he had had over the years like this one, how many he would have beyond your lifetime, when you couldn't care for him like this. You sniffled back the tears at the thought to continue what you were doing. You placed your thumbs directly over the scars and pressed, pushing until you felt he was at his limit, rolling the pad of your thumb against the skin around and out. It wouldn't be enough, but it would have to do for now. To finish, you placed your hands fully on his lower back, and stretched out like a cat, pushing up and then pulling back down gently to go over his back in full. You couldn't feel the same knots you had started with, and so, with your own sense of pride welling up, you began to move off of Lucifer's back.

When he heard your feet hitting the floor as you slid off the bed, he couldn't stop himself from getting your attention once more by calling your name.   
"Hmm?" you were packing things away, too focussed on what you were doing to take note of the urgency in his voice. Lucifer sat up and turned, putting his own feet on the floor behind you.   
"Turn around, please," Lucifer urged, trying to hide the emotion in his words. You turned around to find yourself in front of him, looking down on him as he sat still on the bed, looking resplendent after all your work. On the other hand, you figured you probably looked a mess; you could feel the sweat on your brow, the mix of oils on your hands, the ache in your own muscles after working his. But as he tilted his head up to look at you, and met your gaze with a wobbly, unsure smile, it was all worth it. He stood, that perfect posture causing him to tower over you, and wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you in close, his wings sweeping round to hold you even closer. And you held him, your head against a solid, chiselled as if from marble chest, feeling the soft, shaky rise and fall of his breaths, his heartbeat, as you enjoyed each other's warmth. He leaned his head down to place a gentle kiss on the top of your head, his lips lingering as if he was struggling to find the words to express himself. When he finally parted from you, still holding you lightly as you raised your head to look at him with watery, tired eyes, he found them.

"Thank you."


End file.
